


Two wrongs, no rights

by zaynscheekbones



Series: Wildest Moments [3]
Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: GTOP, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, happy ending tho eyyy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8042212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaynscheekbones/pseuds/zaynscheekbones
Summary: They shouldn't work together, but somehow they do.





	Two wrongs, no rights

 

 _Self destructive tendencies,_ he overhears his school counsellor say to his mum one day. He’s 6 years old and doesn’t really understand what it means, but it sticks with him in the back of his mind for days.

 

It takes 15 years for him to finally understand it, sitting wide awake in his room at 3am with only shadows for company. The realization hits him like a train. A pile of homework sits on his desk, homework that he had plenty of time to do but just _didn’t_ , and he couldn’t work out why. Couldn’t work out why he’s so intent on crashing head first into a shit storm of his own making. Smoke from his cigarette curls around his fingers (smoke that he knows his mum will smell in the morning) and disappears into the air around him. He wished he could disappear along with it, but then maybe it was just teenage angst. On the outside it’s not really that bad, when put in perspective. He has money, a roof over his head. It’s the inside that worries him. It’s the thoughts of falling off buildings and running into traffic that put him on edge, that make him think that _maybe_ he’s not OK _._ Sometimes he thinks he’s like a supernova, waiting to explode and take everyone with him. Sometimes he thinks he’s already exploded, only no ones seen it yet.

 

“This isn’t you, Seunghyun.” His mum snaps at him the next morning, wafting a towel around the room in a vain attempt to get rid of the smell of stale smoke. Now he realizes she was saying that more for her own sake than his. He doesn’t know who he is.

 

Things were never great at home. Years ago his parents used to argue so loud he thought the roof would fall down on top his head, sending plaster and bricks through his messy hair. On many of those nights his bedroom door would creak open and he would hear the soft footsteps of his sister padding into his room, her body lit from behind by the harsh light of the hallway. She would always pull out her portable DVD player and climb underneath his checked sheets, both of them in flannel pyjamas that their mum got every Christmas. It was always the same film, as well. Jaws. It never failed to give him nightmares and keep him from sleeping for the next few days. But it was worth it, his little body craved the adrenaline, the _fear_ he got from it.

 

From then on he was fascinated by sharks, with their cold eyes and long teeth, the way their bodies cut through the water like a knife. He would spend shark week ( _incredible_ , a whole week dedicated to sharks) sat inches away from the TV, with crossed legs and eyes tired from artificial light.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sharks can tell from one bite whether they’re going to waste more calories killing something than they will receive from actually eating it. Which is why most shark attacks aren’t actually attacks, they’re just bites. He thinks that’s why Jiyong reminds him of a shark. Jiyong who definitely isn’t (but definitely is) the most neurotic person he’s ever met. They first met in year 2, when they were put together for a presentation. Neither of them had any friends; Jiyong, even at 8, was too high maintenance to keep any friends for long, and Seunghyun had gained a reputation as the kid who set his book on fire in the Bunsen burner. He was much taller than Jiyong even then, but as the teacher introduced them to each other the smaller kid looked at him like he was sizing him up, getting ready to devour him whole.

 

The project ended with Jiyong throwing a chair at Seunghyun, leaving a dent in the wall and teachers that tried to keep them separate at all costs, advising their parents to do the same. Despite their disastrous first meeting, they always gravitated towards each other. To Seunghyun, the smaller boy was enthralling. Dynamic and passionate and _dangerous,_ his moods switching from one minute to the next. The danger drew him in (maybe the lack of alternative options helped a little bit), and they stuck together like glue. The two of them against the world.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Years go by and Seunghyun starts to realise that he isn’t like most teenage boys. His family make jokes that he’s like a 60 year old man; the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. Similarly, Jiyong isn’t either. He’s crazy, people at school say. No more than Seunghyun, but Jiyong lets it out, lets it out in fits of rage and anxiety. When Jiyong asks him through gritted teeth and clenched fists to be part of his group, his _idol_ group, Seunghyun tells him he’s insane. At 50 pounds overweight and a bit of a mess in general, he’s not exactly a flower boy. But he says yes, because right now Jiyong is the only thing that makes him feel alive.

 

It’s tough. It’s so much tougher than he thought it would be and there is nothing more he wants than to give up, all the time. He would’ve too, were it not for Jiyong.  They still gravitate towards each other, and Seunghyun often goes home surprised that Youngbae’s stares haven’t managed to burn a hole in his jacket yet.

 

“He needs help.” Youngbae hisses to him one night, as they watch Jiyong on the other side of the room scratch at his arm until the flesh is red and raw. “ _Professional_ help.”

 

Seunghyun looks back at him with a vacant expression. He doesn’t know when that became his responsibility.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Nights like this, where he can’t sleep because he’s so trapped inside his own head, when he can’t decide whether he wants to throw himself out of his window or pour bleach into his eyes, are the worst of it. There’s a cigarette in his left hand and a bottle of wine in the right, too many thoughts swirling around his head and a pounding ache in his temple. He’d cry if he could.

 

The door to his hotel room clicks and opens slowly, warm light spilling into the room. He doesn’t need to see who it is, knowing it’s Jiyong. At some point over the years Jiyong adopted his sister’s routine, wordlessly climbing into the other side of Seunghyun’s bed. Instead of Jaws, though, it’s his body that offers him comfort, that gives him an escape from the rest of the world and the thoughts bouncing off the sides of his skull. The first time they sleep together is messy and awkward _._ He’s 2 bottles of wine down when he stumbles into the recording studio at 3am, lyrics and melodies swirling around his head that if he doesn’t write down will probably drive him off his balcony. Walking blindly into the studio he almost trips on Jiyong, crouched on the floor of the studio and breathing so hard that Seunghyun could swear the room shakes in response. This isn’t the first time he’s seen Jiyong have a panic attack, nor the first time he’s calmed him down from one, but this time the alcohol in his blood pulls him closer into Jiyong and suddenly they’re kissing. There’s a loud voice at the back of his mind telling him to stop, silenced by the taste of Jiyong’s lips on his own and the fluttering of his eyelashes against his cheek.

 

Frantically they undress each other, with lips fused together and beads of sweat forming on their foreheads. They’re both so desperate, and it shows. It shows in the way Jiyong’s breath shakes and the way Seunghyun grips his hair so hard he’s surprised there isn’t clumps of it falling to the floor. Afterwards, they lie on the floor side by side, naked and sticky. He feels like his stomach is about to fall through the floor and has to take deep breaths to stop himself from crying. It doesn’t work, though, and big, heaving sobs escape. Jiyong looks at him like he has a bitter taste in his mouth, but at least he feels something now, he thinks.

 

Afterwards Youngbae doesn’t look him in the eyes for weeks. Slowly it spreads around the company that they’re _doing it_ (they were doomed the minute Seungri found the suspicious white stains in the studio) _._ They’re not doing it-they only did it once, Seunghyun tries to clarify. But his protestations fall on deaf ears, and eventually it isn’t just a one time thing. He starts waking up naked next to Jiyong, his mind racing with the memories of the night before. Memories of panting and sweating and feeling _alive._ That feeling doesn’t last for long, of course. He’s always left with the same ache in his body, the same urge to jump off the top of whatever hotel they’re in for the night. But still he goes back for more. Jiyong’s become a vice to him, in the same way that cigarettes and alcohol used to be.

 

When they’re not sleeping together, they’re fighting. From small fights to explosive fights, where Seunghyun storms off and Jiyong dries his eyes on Youngbae’s shoulders. One minute Jiyong has him up against a wall, running his hands through his hair and pressing kisses down his neck, the next he’s screaming at Seunghyun. Throwing objects and words until his face is red and he slides down onto the floor, shaking with exertion. He knows it isn’t healthy for him, knows it isn’t healthy for Jiyong either. But he doesn’t know how to draw away, doesn’t know how to do that without hurting himself or Jiyong.

 

At the deepest point of the ocean, the bit where no light can reach and weird fish swim around blindly, the water pressure is equivalent to having 50 jumbo jets placed on top of your body. Seunghyun has never had 50 jumbo jets placed on top of his body, but he can imagine how it feels, as he slides down onto the floor next to Jiyong. He lets Jiyong drag him down into madness because it’s better than sitting down there alone.

 

He tried to do it once before. But he ended up throwing the sleeping pills back up and staining all his towels with vomit and red wine and blood. His stomach hurt for weeks after that. This time he’s so tired, so done, that he’s not sure he’s fully conscious when he reaches for the sleeping pills (klonopin) and sinks down onto his bed to shut his eyes for what he hopes will be the last time. The next thing he knows, Jiyong is shaking him awake, sticking fingers down his throat with tears in his eyes and a vein popping in his forehead. He’s at rock bottom, and he’s not sure if he wants to get back up.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Medication and therapy help. He starts to feel human again, starts to feel stable again. Jiyong eases off a little bit, and things are good. For the first time in a long time, things are _good._ They’re like a normal couple, they go out to eat, hang out with their friends, spend time with each other’s families. It could have come right from a scene in a romantic comedy.

 

Then Jiyong says it.

 

“ _I love you.”_

 

It’s quiet and unassuming and so unlike Jiyong that it takes Seunghyun back, takes the words from his mouth and leaves him standing with his mouth wide open. Jiyong laughs it off but Seunghyun can’t do that. It haunts him, sticks with him for days. It terrifies him. Terrified of how well things are going, terrified of how deep his feelings are for Jiyong, terrified of the thought that he’ll definitely fuck it up one day. So some twisted part of his mind thinks it’s easier to ruin things now, before he’s sold his soul to Jiyong. The irrational, darkest part of his mind, pipes up. Accuses Jiyong of cheating, of cheating with Kiko; a model he’s barely been in the same room with.

 

That’s what the therapist tells him, at least. After he calls her at 4am from the rooftop on the YG building, contemplating whether to jump or whether he can just cry himself into a prune and die of dehydration. The therapist says he’s scared to let himself be happy, says it goes back to his parent’s divorce. He thinks he’s just a fucking idiot.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

He needs to escape, to get lost, so he takes a flight to the only place he can think of; Berlin. He was there for a few months earlier in the year, and couldn’t remember ever feeling so small, so insignificant, as to when he was standing in between the brand architecture with histories bigger than anything he’s encountered before, surrounded by people who didn’t speak his language and everyone he knew a million miles away. The hotel he finds is shitty and dingy and completely encapsulates how he’s feeling right now. Sitting down on the bed, mattress springs digging into his flesh, the floodgates open and he’s crying harder than he ever thought was possible.

 

Jiyong calls him at 3am, drunk, one night. Out of habit and half asleep, he slides his screen to answer, only realising once he hears Jiyong’s slurred yells what he’s done. He sits up abruptly in bed and the sheets slide down his bare torso as he holds the phone at arm’s length. Luminous light from his phone screen hurt his eyes, and all he can make out is Jiyong saying his name over and over again. With shaking fingers he presses on his screen to hang up the call. He doesn’t get back to sleep that night, and the next morning his phone is buzzing with texts from Youngbae.

 

“Get the fuck over yourself.” Is one of the least colourful ones. He closes his phone screen, ignoring them. An hour later Youngbae lets him know that Seunghyun left his read receipts on, and that Jiyong needs him, they all need him. The latter bit of information is harder to swallow than the first.

 

“You need to give yourself permission to be happy, Seunghyun.” The voice of his therapist echoes in the back of his mind. He throws his phone at the wall leaving a dent in the plaster and a crack down the screen.

 

There’s a popular rhetoric that he’s lazy, everyone from his family to his fans know the jokes. Truth is, he’s not that lazy. Sometimes he has days where he can’t physically move from his bed; his head is being weighed down with thoughts and the most effort he can spare is reaching for the carton of cigarettes on his bed side table. It’s just always been easier to pass it off as laziness.

 

He spends a month in bed, reading German art magazines and comfort eating sausages, until a staff member rudely disturbs his self pity one day. With a face that makes Seunghyun want to punch him he informs him that “his card has been cancelled and does he have another form of payment?”. Another three cards get declined after that, and he calls his manager in a panic, only to be informed that he can use his cards again once he gets it together and comes back to Seoul. He would file a lawsuit if he could speak German.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Seoul’s air is thick and heavy on his chest as he steps off the airplane, taking him by surprise. It feels suffocating, and he briefly wonders if this is what a heart attack feels like. Cold sweat drips down his back as he tries to tell his manager that he thinks he’s having a heart attack, only earning him a hard stare from the older man. Once he arrives at his villa it’s late at night, with only starlight and crickets for company. Jiyong is waiting for him in his kitchen, which he really should have expected but it still takes him by surprise, throwing him and leaving him with the speech ability of his three year old nephew. He’s sitting on the floor by the glass coffee table in his living room, flicking through his art catalogues and running thin fingers through red strands of hair, and Seunghyun is confronted with the very thing he spent the past month running from.

 

Seunghyun always liked how elegant Jiyong’s hands were, as they would roam under his clothes and over his skin. They’re far away from that now though, and, unable to meet Jiyong’s eyes, he sits down on his sofa; the cold leather offering no comfort to him right now. Soonho goes to wait outside for Jiyong, taking away the last buffer between the two.

 

“Should’ve listened to you when you told me not to get a leather sofa.” He says to Jiyong to fill the silence. But it’s not a joke and neither of them laugh. Jiyong’s gaze burns a hole in his head.

 

“I’m still here, for when you get over yourself. I don’t know how long I’ll wait for you for, but I will wait.” Jiyong says, quieter and more reserved than Seunghyun has ever heard him. He gets up to leave the villa and Seunghyun stands up to walk him (awkwardly) towards the door. Pausing in his dimly lit hallway, Jiyong turns to him. “I need you, Seunghyun. You’re the only thing that makes sense to me.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sometime during the night he realises he isn’t going to get to sleep, and leaves a garbled message on his mum’s answering phone to say that he’ll be at her house by the morning. He texts Soonho to tell him that he needs a week with his mum, who replies with a ‘fuck you’, making him smirk as he lifts his suitcase into the company car. The streets are dead and darkness envelopes the car as rolls out of his driveway, gravel crunching beneath the wheels. Skyscrapers and noise make way for  pine trees and silence as they leave the city, the bright lights of Seoul behind him now.

 

During the car journey he realises he doesn’t have a set of keys to his mum’s house on him, but waking her up is out of the question and turning back to his empty villa feels like too much to handle right now, so he makes the company car drop him off in the drive way and sits there, head in hands and deep in thought, until the sun creeps over the trees. He’s starting to warm up when his sister opens the door, wrapping her arms around him and hugging a little bit too tight for a little bit too long. Yeon Jun is full of the kind of excitement only possible to toddlers when he sees his uncle again, and for a brief period of time Seunghyun allows himself to be swept away by it. To Yeon Jun, he’s just an uncle visiting his nephew. Not a man having a month long mid-life crisis at the age of 27.

 

“I’m fine.” He tries to let his sister know, but his voice cracks through disuse and disbelief shrouds her face. Quiet footsteps alert him to his mother’s presence and he melts into her embrace. Even more than Jiyong, she is one of the few people with whom he can let his guard down.

 

“Omma.” He manages to say, before tears escape his eyes and huge, heaving sobs shake his body. Patches of tears make her cardigan damp by the time she’s managed to calm him down; drying his eyes with tissues from her pockets and leading him into his old bedroom. The sheets are the same ones he’s had since he was five, and she wraps him up in the duvet like she would a five year old.

 

In between his sobs and hiccups, they somehow manage to talk. He tells her he was just tired, that he’s been working too much, but he can’t stop talking and he realises if he doesn’t pour out everything inside his head he’s going to explode. She listens with the patience that only his mother could give him and by the end of it he’s exhausted, more drained than he can ever remember feeling. He lies there empty, devoid of tears and energy and _feeling._

 

The next morning he walks into the kitchen to find Jiyong sitting at the table. Unsure if he should be there, Jiyong grins sheepishly up at him. His mum, on the other hand, looks so determined it scares Seunghyun a little bit, as she pushes him down onto a chair and says through gritted teeth;

 

“ _I’m leaving you two to talk things over.”_

Jiyong flashes the same sheepish smile at her as she leaves the room and Seunghyun squints at him, his mind still foggy from sleep. Jiyong is clearly waiting for him to speak first, but he doesn’t know where to begin, his mind full of everything and nothing at the same time. The hot tap is dripping, so he moves to turn it tighter, aware of Jiyong’s eyes following his every move.

 

“Waste of water.” He mumbles with a shrug, getting a perplexed look from Jiyong in return (understandable. It’s doubtful that Jiyong came all this way to be lectured on environmentalism). Even though his mum hates smoking and would likely smack him around the head if she knew what he was doing, he pulls a pack of Marlborough out of his bag and motions to Jiyong. It’s a beautiful day, and for a while they sit on his mother’s deck in silence, listening to the leaves rustle and watching their smoke get taken away on the wind. Jiyong’s delicate fingers grip his cigarette tightly, still waiting for Seunghyun to speak first.

 

“I’m fucked up.” He finally says, fixing his eyes onto the distance, trying to look anywhere but Jiyong. He squints into the sun, maybe he’s trying to blind himself.

 

Angrily, Jiyong sighs in response, as if to say _that isn’t enough._ So Seunghyun continues.

 

“I fuck things up. Everything I try and do I eventually fuck up, hell I’m surprised if haven’t made the band crash and burn yet. My therapist said I probably got scared of getting hurt if we didn’t work out, so I ruined it early on.”

 

He pauses, and in that pause Jiyong tries to speak.

 

“That’s not an exc-“

 

“I know it’s not an excuse!” He interrupts Jiyong, snarling. “I’m not making excuses. This is me letting you know why it happened, because I was scared that I would fuck it up later. Maybe my therapist is right, that I was scared of getting hurt. But I think more than that I was scared of hurting you. I was scared of hurting you when I’m the one supposed to be saving you.

 

But I can’t save you, Jiyong. I’m too fucked up for that.”

 

Silence descends on them again as they watch the tall grass wave in the wind. Sweat beads on Jiyong’s forehead and Seunghyun watches it roll down his face. After a while Jiyong inhales as if to start speaking, but changes his mind midway, pressing his lips tightly together and getting up to leave. Seunghyun watches him go, with another cigarette in between his lips and the feeling of a weight returning to his chest. His mum comes out to join him on the deck, arms crossed and nose wrinkled at the smell of his smoke. One look at his face, though, and her expression softens.

 

“You need to give this a chance, Seunghyunnie.” She says, sitting down gently beside him. She takes his spare hand in hers, eyes soft and full of love for him. “Give yourself a shot at happiness.”  

 

 

* * *

 

He gives himself a chance. It doesn’t happen immediately; there’s no sudden epiphany, no dramatic kiss in the rain or desperate plea for Jiyong’s love. But it does happen. One step at a time. His therapist makes him work hard at it, makes him bring up the memories that he thought he’d managed to bury forever, digs up the self hatred in the darkest parts of his mind, but eventually he's at a point where he's telling Jiyong that  _he loves him too_ , and it feels like the easiest thing in the world. No fear, no worry.

 

It’s not perfect; he still has bad days. Days where he feels like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, days where he’s afraid to shut his eyes for fear of losing himself to his own mind. It’s just that now the good days far outweigh the bad. 

 

The good days are the ones with Jiyong, the ones where they laugh until their sides hurt, the ones where they sit in silence for hours, breathing and living in a rhythm that only they understand. He lets Jiyong in. Who in turn, opens himself up to Seunghyun. He gets all of Jiyong, the bad and the good, who takes all of Seunghyun, his bad and his good. 

 

They shouldn’t work, but they do.


End file.
